Bitin' Back (6 page)

‘No, not really. There's more to life than this town, is what I'm saying. They can't help the way they are round here. Born and bred in one spot, this is all they know. Shit, none of them been past the friggin Four Square!'

‘So, that's why Trevor's here, cos he's not like the others. Is that what ya mean?'

‘In a way, I suppose. Look, Mum, I don't really want to talk about this any more.' He yanks the fridge door open.

‘Ya know, I'm here if ya wanna talk. Yeah, n I nearly forgot. I gotta book from the library,
Wide Sargasso Sea.'
I lay me cards on the table, watchin as he turns round slowly n stares bug-eyed at me.

‘You did?'

‘Yep, Jean Rhys.'

‘Mum, you don't read books.'

‘I do now. Maybe you'll tell poor ol Mum why ya wanna be Jean Rhys. Ya hate yaself, that it? I believe Jean were a sad sorta person too. Or maybe you think yer goin mad, like that woman in the attic? Yeah, love, I done taken a lot a notice a that book.'

‘Oh shit! Mad! Hate myself?' He laughs hard then says, ‘It's nothing. I can't ... Forget it, Mum.' He throws over his shoulder as he walks out the door.

‘Ya can't be Jean, Nevil. There was only one Jean in this ol world! Ya hear me! Jean's dead as a doornail!' I yell me guts out. ‘Ya not
the woman's ghost! I'll find out, Nevil Dooley!'

Sighin I get up, put the cups in the sink and wash them out. As I stand there thinkin I look out the window.

Missus Warby stands on the kero tin starin over at me joint. Hangin from her neck there's some eye spotters. I push the window open wider to get a better view. Then, as I turn my head, I see the copper, Max Brown, stride through the front gate, whistlin as he moves along.

‘Oh no,' I groan, then turn back to Missus Warby, who by this time has the eye spotters up to her eyes.
Jeesussuuuschhrrisst! It never rains but it pours! What that copper doin here?

I hear the knock on the door n I rush out before Nevil has the chance to open it.

‘Mavis, how are you?' Max Brown coughs, then runs his eyes behind me, over me shoulder, like I done got somethin to hide.
Which I have like, har, har.

‘Good, Max, and yerself?' I give me best honest-person smile.
See I a good citizen. I'm no law breaker.

‘Oh, in this job things never get better, only worse,' he says, slappin a smile on his face. ‘Look, I've received a missing persons complaint and thought I'd better come around and
sort this out.' He looks at me, his sunburnt face wrinkled up into a frown.

‘Yeah, who's missin?' I chew on me bottom lip.
What the hell now?

‘Nevil. Isn't he?' He asks, openin a notepad.

‘Well, he was, but he's back home now.' I shrug me shoulders hopin he don't wanna see Nevil.
That'd knock the piss outta him fer sure.

‘Can I see him?' It's like the man's readin me mind.

‘Well, Max, he's definitely here. But he's in the bathtub. Anyway, who made the complaint?' I part me lips into a smile.
Who the fuckery would do somethin like ring the cops! Could it be—Nah, even she wouldn't be that cracked.

‘Gracie Marley claims Nevil disappeared and that you don't know where he is.' Max looks at me whit somethin like a flicker of sussin.

‘No, no, she got it all wrong. I didn't say that,' I lie.
Gracie gonna be dead meat when I get holda her.

‘Okay, Mavis, I believe you. Tell Gracie to stop wasting my time when you see her,' Max walks back through the gate, but not before Missus Warby spots him.

‘Max! Max, over here!' she cries, wavin the eye spotters at him.

‘Bloody silly ol bugger,' I whisper under me breath, then slam the door shut. I can't help but wonder what she's gonna say, what gossip she's gonna spread.

At that moment I feel a sickness in me lower gut. Like a premmanishon, what's that word? I realise all this business whit Nevil is like a deck a cards ready to fall. That there probably are no aces in me deck.
That I be doned over like a dinner.

FIVE

I lay back on the couch and watch as the crowd moves in one long unbroken line down the street, like a black centipede creepin along on its gut.

‘Whadda we want—Land Rights!'

‘When do we want em? Now!' The mob chants as they push and shove past the police and TV cameras. For an instant the screen flickers and the picture goes snowy like.

‘Bloody thing,' I mumble and get up to fiddle whit the knobs.

‘Mum, Mum, don't worry, I'll find him.'

I swing round at the voice.

‘Gracie? Gracie love, is that you?' I peer round the lounge room.

‘Yeah, Mum, I'll bring him home, I promise.'

‘Gracie, whatcha talkin bout?' I try to locate her voice in the semi-darkness.

‘No, he was never one to do things like this ... Yep, just disappeared ... Yeah, from Mandamooka.'

‘There are grave concerns for his safety?' I swing wildly round at the man's voice.

Suddenly realisation dawns on me. I smack the side a the TV and bend down to look at the screen. Gracie stands in front of the protestors holdin a big sign whit the words:
Have you seen this man?
and a blown-up photo of Nevil holdin a stubbie in one hand and a fish in the other.

‘Jeessuuss Christ!' I burst out and scramble full-tear down the hall. ‘Nevil, Nevil!' I bang on his door. ‘Open up! Yer on TV! Gracie's tellin everyone ya missin.'

He opens the door. ‘What?' He looks at me like I'm the one whit head trouble.

‘TV, yer on TV! Gracie, she tellin everyone!' I blabber, me hands flyin mad through the air as I point to the lounge room.

‘Gracie on TV? What's wrong with you, Mum? Been on the piss, eh?' He grins, comin closer and sniffin round me face.

‘Don't talk stupid,' I shout, grabbin him by the arms n pushin him like a shoppin trolley so fast down the hallway that he stumbles n loses his thongs.

‘Hurry up!' I shove him forward. ‘There, look!' I point to the screen.

‘Oh yeah, a march. Land rights,' Nevil says, his voice flat n low as he turns to look at me.

‘Get outta the way!' I push him aside and stare at the picture. ‘She was there. Holdin a big sign n a photo of ya.' I race over to the TV and switch channels. ‘On the news. She was on the bloody news. I tell ya, Nevil, it's true.'

‘Port. You been drinking port, Mum?' He shakes his head, disgust paintin his face.

‘Talk bout friggin mad. Ain't touched that shit for years.'

‘Mum, maybe you should go to Doctor Chin and have a check-up.'

‘Why don't ya believe me?' I walk past him and sit down on the couch.

‘Mum, I'm not a missing person, am I?' He sits down beside me.

‘It were her. I seen her. It were Gracie all right. Standin in front a that mob a land rights fellas. Know that voice anywhere.'
Now why'd a woman go n tell her what I did? Stupid. I shoulda told her the truth. Maybe Gracie woulda understood. Stupid. Mavis Dooley, dickhead. Gee, what a friggin crazy thing to do! Now Nev thinks I been drinkin again.

‘Fellas from round here don't go on TV telling lies about people. Is this your way of telling me something, Mum? Is this about Jean Rhys?' Nevil asks, reachin for me hand.

‘Bloody dumb question. Orrhh no, don't worry bout it.' I look back at the screen, wishin her to come on again.

‘Mum, Nevil's not missing. He's just gone away for some time. He'll be back,' Nevil says, in a sure tone.

‘Son, don't talk to me like I be the one whit problems! Was you started all this!' I let me trap loose n jump up to me feet, rage grippin a woman.

‘Yeah, how?'

‘All this shit talk bout bein a dead woman! Yeah, Nev, Jean Rhys carked it long time ago. Seem she had a lot a trouble too. But that's no reason to be goin round tellin the world that you is her!' I explode, me heart thuddin.

‘Don't you dare say those things! Shit, Mum, I thought you understood!' He punches the air with short, sharp little jabs of his finger.

‘Ya know what they do to
homos
in jail? Yeah, that's right, Nev,
homosexual.
Gay! They bash em! I'm sure yer little mate in there'd know bout that, eh!'
Take that bit a truth, Nevil.

‘Gay? Gay? You think I'm gay!' he snorts, his mouth droppin open as he looks at me and shakes his head. ‘Oh Mum, I'm not gay.'

‘That's what they all say. Yeah, Nev, I watch Ricki Lake n know nough that a lot a fellas deny it.'

I walk over to the wall and look up at the photo of Dave. ‘Spose it weren't all yer fault, Nev. It were all that bastard's there. Wouldn't make a good father even if he tried. If I coulda got a dad for ya I woulda. Ya gotta know that, Nev. And remember ya like a son to Uncle Booty.' I try hard to hold back the fast comin tears.

‘Don't blame Dad, Mum. Don't blame anyone, okay? You're just stressed out is all. One day I promise you'll look back on all this and say, wasn't a woman silly. I'm just going through some stuff now. Just trying hard to do things my way,' he says, and pats me on the shoulder.

‘Sorry, love. A woman's a bit stressed out is all, jus too much catchin up to a person. Been so tired lately, must be the blood pressure. Time for me to go to bed, eh.'

Nevil stands on top a the bar, singin n dancin. He wears one of me dresses, his face is covered whit make-up. I sit at the back a the crowd and watch whit a chill in me heart as he slides his hips at the men. I glance down at his feet: he's wearin high heels and stockins. His voice rises, shrill and girl-like as he belts outta tune bout bein a woman in love. Trevor struts in, wearin a mini skirt, a cropped tee-shirt and a pair a poshy sandals.

‘I'm a good daughter-in-law.' He sits down beside me and laughs.

I look at him. ‘Are you Mister Jean Rhys?'

‘Maybe I am,' he replies.

‘I can't let ya take him away. I don't want Nevil to be a
homo.' I turn my attention towards the pub door. Big Boy and the Blackouts barge in, throwin a football to each other. Suddenly they all stop and stare with shocked disbelief at the mincin, dancin form of Nevil.

‘Dead man down!' they shout n all rush towards the bar.

It's then I realise that Nev, or Jean Rhys as he's known, would be torn from limb to limb.

‘Told ya. You bingo thief! He's queer! A fucken poofter!' Dotty Reedman screeches at me.

‘Lies, all lies!' I cry out.

‘I can't go with a woman who has a fancy boy for a son!' Terry Thompson spits, glaren at me.

Hettie frowns, ‘You're a liar, Mavis.'

‘He's missin, Mum, and I mean to find him. I love Nevil,' Gracie's voice calls out.

‘Jean Rhys was one of the finest writers ever to grace the literary world. There will never be another like her. No, there was only one Jean Rhys,' Lizzy the librarian whispers in me ear.

‘I don't serve Tim Tams to people who don't know fact from fiction,' Betty yells from behind the shop counter.

‘A man ain't a man if he can't kill a pig. Nope, he a regular pussy if he can't do that. Got no time for girly boys. They nuthin,' Booty roars, then flings a chair cross the floor.

Dave floats above me. ‘He's useless. You gave birth to a faggot. I can't have that, so I'm pissin off.'

‘Get him. Get the poofy boy n is girlfriend! Get Mavis! All her fault! Gethergethergethergethergethergethergethergethergetherget hergethergether!' They all scream and rush at me.

‘No, no, no! It's all Jean's fault!' I scream, me hands punchin into the pillow. Gaspin n outta breath, I wake up. I swing me legs over the edge a the bed n walk over to the window, confused and dazed. The dream was so real that for a fraction of a second I almost believed it all happened. Still feelin
punchdrunk, I go into the kitchen n put the kettle on.
Musta been seein Gracie on TV that brought that dream on a woman. Some people reckon dreams have messages. Wonder what mine was.

I hear footsteps and turn round to see Trevor dryin his hair with a towel as he comes into the room.

‘Mornin,' I greet him, wonderin what bed he slept in.

‘Hello. Nice morning isn't it. Not like the city with all its noise and pollution. How lucky you are to be living out here in the sticks,' he says, with a nervy-lookin grin.

‘Yeah, guess that's true. Now look, Trevor, while yer here I might as well have a good talk to ya.' I pull up a chair and sit beside him.

‘Yes, about what, Missus Dooley?' He questions, throwin a quick peek over his shoulder.

‘Bout all this shit been goin on. Ya know, fore you came here, Nevil was actin mighty strange. Yeah, thinkin he's a woman n everythin. Now, I can't rightly blame ya fer all this but it's gettin outta control. Thing is, people are startin to talk.' I give him one of my serious, don't-mess-whit-me-looks.

‘Missus Dooley, I can't tell Nevil not to do those things. What I would like to tell you is that Nevil is a very special person in more ways than one. People like him are sensitive and not a lot of people can understand that.' He wrings his hands and looks down at the floor.

‘Special! Special! What's that sposed to mean eh?'
Yep, this Trevor he the one that's ssppeecciiaall. Real special, puttin shit in Nev's head.

‘He's not like the others. Matter of fact, he's not like anyone I know at all.' Trevor brings his head up and watches me.

‘Gay? Is that what you mean?'
There, I done sayed it!

‘No, not that ... I mean, once in a lifetime someone like
Nevil comes along. He's so far removed from all this here,' he says, spreadin the towel out on the back a the chair.

‘Movin! He's not movin nowhere! Ya hear!' I shove me face closer to his, tryin to look as menacin like as possible.

‘Oh no, I didn't say
move.
I said far removed. Like he doesn't really fit in here.'

‘Yeah, mister smarty pants, big timer city boy, where do he fit in? The stinkin city?' I ask, the hairs on me neck standin to attention.

‘That I cannot tell you. Missus Dooley, I'm not here to take Nevil away or anything like that. I'm here to help him. Just bear with me, please,' he pleads, big ol cow eyes beggin at me.

‘Sometimes I have to wonder if he's goin mad. Loony. If'n he's like that ol bat next door, crazy as a friggin stock-whipped horse. Ain't right, is it? Nev gettin bout in dresses! I gotta live here in case ya didn't know. It be all on my head, this business. People already thinkin a woman's pissed all a the time.' I let a gust a air outta me gob, then get up and root round in the cupboard for a packet of Tim Tams.
Need calmin down I do. No good for the blood pressure.

‘I understand all that. Please be patient a little longer, Missus Dooley. Nev will be back to himself. He's only going through a phase right now. It's nothing to be afraid of.' That's what he says, but his look don't be convincin me.

‘He don't wake up to hisself soon then I'm gettin his arse—ooops, shouldna say that word in front of you—I'm gettin him to Doctor Chin to check out that head a his. God knows what's runnin bout in there.' I plonk the biscuits on the table and reach over to haul out a bottle a Coke.

‘Trevor, whatdda you do in the city?' I open the Tim Tams carefully.
Grillin time. He's not gonna be fuckery whit Mavis Dooley.

‘Oh, not much. I—I'm a—well, I paint things,' he mutters, throwin his eyeballs to a poster a the Blackouts footy team tacked to the fridge.

‘A painter, fancy! Well least that's somethin I sorta like. Reckon you could do a ol woman like me a pictcha a somethin?' I pour a glass a Coke and range the biscuits on the saucer.
Gotta step real sneak-like.

‘What of?' He clears his throat and watches me hands.

‘Two dogs. Nuh, not the Two Dogs pub—Booty's pig dogs. Reckon they'd make a good paintin, eh?' I push the plate a biscuits and the glass a Coke toward him.

‘Oh, yes,' he answers, a frown on his face as he stares down at the biscuits n Coke.

‘Eat em up. Put hair on ya chest,' I laugh, findin the joke funnier than he does.

‘Breakfast?' He questions, eyes wide n his mouth slack.

‘Good tucker. I been eatin the same breakfast for—let's see, yep, for bout ten goin on leven years now.' I chew on the biscuit n wonder what poshy fellas like him eat for breakfast.

‘I—well, Missus Dooley, I—'

The boy tongue-tied. Probably no one ever done made him breakfast before. Grateful, that's what I like to see.

‘Eat up. Yep, cashionally I do stuff like this for peoples, guests in me home. Ain't no one never turned they noses up at tucker served by Mavis Dooley. Matter a fact I be considered somethin of a cook. Yeah, done cooked for a mob a shearers last year. Couldn't get nough a me grub, fancy that, eh.'